


You won’t believe how much mutual pining I fit into this fic

by EllieStormfound



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Geraskier, Jaskier | Dandelion Has Feelings, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Kaer Morhen, M/M, Mention of Death, Mention of Minor Injuries, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Winter At Kaer Morhen, Yearning, a bard is loose at kaer morhen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:55:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 15,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26914006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllieStormfound/pseuds/EllieStormfound
Summary: In which Geralt takes Jaskier to Kaer Morhen over the winter and their mutual pining starts spiralling out of control. Can Eskel, Lambert and Vesemir help?
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 396
Kudos: 660





	1. Prolog

**Author's Note:**

> For this fic I reused some of my shortfics as scenes/chapters. I modified them more or less so they would fit in nicely.  
> I will declare this in the notes of the respective chapters, when a ficlet is reused in it and tell you how it was originally called.
> 
> pic by my wonderful friend [Bouncey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bouncey/pseuds/Bouncey)  
> 

They arrived at Kaer Morhen a month ago. Geralt had been nervous about how the other witchers would welcome Jaskier even though they had pestered him for the last three years to invite the bard for a winter in the keep way up in the blue mountains.

His nervousness had been unfounded. All the witchers had been happy to have someone new to cheer up the long winter evenings and to help with the neverending list of tasks that the old keep demanded to be livable.  
Jaskier had settled seamlessly into their winter routine and even after such a short time no one could quite remember how the winters without the bard had been.

Before noon Jaskier would do some work in the kitchen, often together with Vesemir: preparations for lunch and dinner like cleaning and cutting vegetables and washing dishes. And he would feed the chickens and collect a few eggs. After lunch Jaskier could be found in the library, taking stock and reorganising their amazing, old and comprehensive collection of books not only about monsters, but also about history, royal families of the northern kingdoms and healing herbs that often not even Oxenfurt university could call their own. He would also do research for new songs and ballads, frantically scribbling down notes. And when the witcher’s walked through their keep they could often hear music echoing through the hallways as the bard weaved his research into song.

And Jaskier himself was ecstatic. He had hoped for years for an invitation from Geralt to accompany him in the winter months to the only place that could be called his home and when it finally came he did not think twice before accepting.

Meeting the other witchers, Geralt’s family, was a treat. He had long and interesting conversations in the evenings with Vesemir about historical events Jaskier had just read about in dusty books that the older witcher had witnessed first hand.

The bard could listen endlessly to Eskel and Lambert, who were way more talkative and responsive to questions about monsters than Geralt. Eskel was also always happy to show the bard around the keep. And Jaskier enjoyed the easy companionship of Lambert who wasn’t nearly as annoying as Geralt had painted him to be, when you actually listened to what he had to say.

To be perfectly honest Jaskier had wondered if the long weeks and months snowed in in a remote fortress in the mountains with just four other people for company would be challenging, but he was amazed how much he enjoyed his time in Kaer Morhen.

What he loved most were the evenings they usually all spent together in the library in front of a delightfully roaring fire. They played a few rounds of gwent or he played them their favorite music on demand - old folk songs for Vesemir and Eskel, lewd tavern songs for Lambert (and Eskel when he was drunk) and all the soft and more quiet ballads he had found out Geralt enjoyed over the years. Occasionally they shared a bottle of wine or two.


	2. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lambert, Lambert, what a prick...or is he not?  
> In which Lambert is the voice of reason and Geralt cannot cope with that

“Geralt,” Lambert said with a grin, “you do realise that the bard is constantly flirting with you, don’t you?”  
They were standing in a courtyard, just having finished their morning training. As long as the weather allowed it, they were training outside and at the moment there was only a thin layer of snow covering the old stones. Jaskier had come out earlier during their training, bringing flasks with hot tea and watched them fight for a time, irritating everyone by shouting encouraging slogans.  
When they paused to accept the warm drinks, he had told Geralt how magnificent his pose was and how much he enjoyed watching him fight not in any life threatening situation but safely among his brothers, affectionately patting him on the arm. 

Geralt had shrugged this off as one of Jaskier’s usually overdramatic speeches and returned to sword training with Eskel. The bard had gone back into the keep and Geralt and his brothers trained for another hour or two before Eskel excused himself for his chore of feeding the goats. Now he was standing with Lambert, drinking the rest of the now cold tea.

“Oh no, that is just his thing, he treats everyone like this,” the older witcher said.  
Lambert turned fully to him, one eyebrow raised. “Not Eskel, Vesemir or me,” he said, more seriously now, “of course he is way more… flirty than your usual inhabitant of Kaer Morhen, but with you, it’s something else.”  
Geralt shook his head, “no, he is not flirting with me...he is just...that is just some way of making fun of me, in a playful way,” Geralt said, brows furrowed.  
Lambert sighed and said, “you’re such an oblivious bastard.” With a short laugh he clapped Geralt on the shoulder and left him alone with his thoughts. 

Geralt shook his head and made his way to the stables to check on the horses. He tried to keep his mind on the task, but his thoughts always came back to what Lambert had said.  
It couldn’t be true that Jaskier was actually flirting with him, could it? Lambert was just as always a prick, making fun of him. 

He knew how it looked when Jaskier flirted with someone, telling compliments, serenading their beauty and that was not really what he did with him, was it?  
Of course, Jaskier never missed a chance of touching him, a brush of his hand over Geralt’s arm, a bump with his shoulder, even massaging his sore neck muscles after a long day. But Jaskier was just a person who enjoyed physical touch. There was nothing special about how he treated Geralt, was there? Of course, Jaskier was always telling him what an expert swordsman he was, but that was just a fact, wasn’t it?

Geralt got increasingly annoyed with Lambert for planting this thought in his head. He was so distracted and agitated that he shut the door to Roach’s stall with a bang, startling her.  
“I am sorry, girl,” he said in a quiet voice, waiting for her to look up to him, “I’m distracted.” 

He felt around in his pockets and when he found a sugar cube he stretched his hand towards the horse, the sugar cube a peace offering on his flat hand. She slowly stepped towards him and swiped it from his hand with her velvety soft lips, puffing hot breath from her nostrils. She was beating her tail and turning her head just out of reach of his hand again, clearly not totally forgiven. 

“It’s just...Jaskier,” he said and was interrupted by another huff of the horse, “I know… it’s something Lambert said about Jaskier flirting with me.” Geralt had always found it easy to talk to his horse. Maybe it was the fact that she did not answer, at least not in words, and so gave him the time and space to really think about what he wanted to say. (But he was sure she silently judged him). 

After a moment he felt her head affectionately bump into his chest and she finally allowed him to stroke her neck and scratch behind her ears.  
Quietly he asked, “do you think he is actually flirting with me? Not just as a joke?” He got a reply in the form of another soft shove of her head into his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is Lambert right or is Lambert right??


	3. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jaskier is in awe of the breathtaking view over the blue mountains

Jaskier stood on top of the outer wall of Kaer Morhen, taking in the stunning view of the blue mountains. It was windy and cold and he stood wrapped in a thick woolen cloak. The sight of rain on another mountain peak a few kilometers away while he stood in rays of sunshine fascinated the bard. The dramatic scenery and the rapid changes of the weather were breathtaking and he was still at a loss how to form this beauty into a song. 

Thinking back to the conversation he had with Geralt, the witcher finally asking him after years of joint travel and parting ways for winter, if he wanted to accompany him to Kaer Morhen, made him smile softly.  
If he didn’t know better, he could have sworn that Geralt had been nervous. It had been a usual evening camping out in the woods. Geralt had been sharpening his steel sword with slow, precise movements, gliding the whetstone along the blade. He had not looked up as the questions popped out of him, using uncharacteristically more words than strictly necessary. 

Of course Jaskier had instantly said yes. 

And he had tried to snuff out the guiddy hope that had bubbled up in him unwanted, hope that Geralt may have another reason to invite him - not just to spend the winter with his friend -, but alas - his hope was as hard to kill than a rock troll. And even though he was no witcher he would wrestle this troll for the sake of their friendship.

He inhaled the cold mountain air deeply and slowly let it out again as he let his eyes wander over the ragged mountains.  
He was glad to have the white wolf as a friend.  
Nothing more was needed. 

Jaskier had always been curious about the infamous witcher keep, that had not only been the scene to a siege by fanatics and the following massacre only few witchers survived, but was also a huge part of Geralt’s life. 

He was not sure why he had always been convinced that humans were not allowed at Kaer Morhen, because he couldn’t recall Geralt ever telling him that. And he never asked because he assumed it to be a touchy subject. And it was at first.  
Geralt had just grunted at his careful question if they ever had guests at Kaer Morhen. But Jaskier occasionally peppered this question casually in their conversations and because Geralt was not prone to lying he eventually told him that there was no rule forbidding guests - human or other kinds. 

In that moment Jaskier had not been sure if he wanted to know the answer to the question, why Geralt had never asked him to spend the winter together.  
But to be honest, he had never asked Geralt either. It had always been an unspoken rule that they would part ways when the nights in autumn got too cold and to run into each other again in spring. And it had never really bothered Jaskier. He had always looked forward to enjoying the luxuries of a civilized town for a few months at a time: warm, soft and dry beds, clean bathhouses and high-class brothels.

But somehow this year has been different. In hindsight it had seemed that both he and Geralt had delayed their yearly separation for longer than usual. Jaskier had debated with himself to ask Geralt to accompany him to Oxenfurt this winter, but knew it was really important for the witcher to retreat to Kaer Morhen and meet up with his brothers. 

And then Geralt finally asked him if he wanted to accompany him to Kear Morhen and warned him in the same breath that winters there were not easy or comfortable. As if to give him an easy out. 

But Jaskier had been giddy with joy and extatic to get the opportunity to get to know a side of his longtime friend that he had never known before. Meeting the other wolf witchers - Geralt’s family, seeing the fortress he grew up in and retreated to in the winters and seeing him staying in one place for more than a couple of days. 

It had been a hell of a journey to get up to the keep. He was used to traveling with Geralt, to walk for days and sleep on the hard ground. But to hike up the mountains was something else. It was painfully more exhausting, even though you got rewarded with the most beautiful views when you paused and just looked back at how much you had already accomplished. 

The first time Jaskier did that he had actual tears in his eyes from a mix of utter exhaustion, the delight that they had already climbed higher than he had thought and the breathtaking beauty of the rugged mountains. Geralt had just stared at him intently, probably rolling his eyes. 

And now he was standing here on top of the world, removed from the bustle of human lifes, royal intrigues and monster attacks. 

He heard someone clear his throat behind him and as he turned around he found Vesemir standing in the doorway, nodding at him.

“Are you enjoying the view?” he asked in his deep voice, not unlike Geralt’s.

“Yes, it’s lovely,” Jaskier said, “breathtaking, isn’t it?”  
The older witcher walked over to stand next to him, shoulder to shoulder they watched out over Morhen Valley.  
After a while Vesemir broke the silence, “it is good to have you here, finally.”

Jaskier whipped his head around and couldn’t suppress a smile. “Finally?” he asked.  
Vesemir hummed in confirmation and the sound reminded Jaskier more of a bear than a wolf.  
“Geralt has been talking about you,” Vesemir said a moment later, “a lot over the years.”  
“He has been talking about me?” the bard echoed. Another bear-like humm followed.

Jaskier wasn’t sure what to say or think about that. Before he could sort through the avalanche of thoughts, Vesemir clapped him on the shoulder and left him alone once more, cheeks red not just from the cold wind.


	4. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evening in Kaer Morhen in the library with Gwent and a little pining from and roasting of Geralt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some time ago I posted a short thing on tumblr about Geralt contemplating Jaskier's crow's feet and I modified that to fit it in this chapter

It was evening and Geralt was sitting with Eskel at the small table in the library, playing their third round of gwent. To his annoyance Eskel had won the two previous ones. 

Jaskier was sitting near the fireplace with Lambert who told him some funny story about a nest of nekkers he had had a contract on last year and Jaskier was laughing.   
Vesemir sat a bit apart in an armchair, eyes closed, snoring quietly. Later he would deny that he had been asleep, claiming to have just rested his eyes for a moment. Geralt smiled slightly, feeling content.

“What are you smiling about?” Eskel asked him, “finally drawn some good cards or are you making it easy for me again?”  
Geralt nodded towards the snoring Vesemir and Eskel smiled softly as he saw the older witcher.  
“Last two rounds you were just lucky, you know I am better at gwent than you,” Geralt said.  
Eskel laughed at that, which made Jaskier look over to them, his smile widening a bit, winking at Geralt as he noticed him watching. Geralt was glad that Eskel’s back was to the bard. 

A moment later Jaskier had walked and sat down on the armrest of Geralt’s huge leather chair, draping his arm over the back and leaning close to Geralt to look at the cards he was holding. He hummed as he studied the cards on the table and in Geralt’s hand. Geralt looked up at him and raised an eyebrow.

“What do you want, bard?”  
“I just thought I could help you before our Eskel here empties your pockets even more.” He grabbed Geralt’s shoulder, squeezing lightly and winked at Eskel as he said that and Eskel the traitor winked back. 

“You cannot help me,” Geralt said through gritted teeth.  
“I could be your...lucky charm,” Jaskier offered, now winking at him.   
Geralt cleared his throat. Why did his palms start to sweat all of a sudden?   
“I cannot concentrate with you looming over me,” he grunted.  
Jaskier’s smile dimmed a bit and he said quietly, “oh, okay, then I’ll...leave you to it.”   
Geralt frowned as the bard walked back over to Lambert. Did Jaskier look...sad all of a sudden? 

“What the fuck was that?” Eskel asked.  
Geralt shook his head. “Just Jaskier being annoying,” he mumbled quietly.   
Eskel raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t mean Jaskier…” 

Eskel also won the next round even though it was a close call this time. “You owe me another 20 crown,” he said as he gathered up his cards, shuffling them, and with a grin he continued, “maybe you should have let Jaskier stay.”

Geralt just grunted to that.   
“And why are you so distracted today? Lambert already told you the nekker story…” Eskel looked up from his cards, eyeing his brother closely.  
Geralt shook his head, “just tired, is all. Let’s play another game.”

The both shuffled their respective cards before exchanging their decks to mix the deck of the other. A few winters ago they had started this. Eskel had been convinced that Lambert was cheating and arranging his cards under the guise of shuffling his deck. Lambert had denied this of course, but since then this tradition was born. 

When both were satisfied that the deck of the other was thoroughly mixed, they exchanged them again and drew ten cards each to start the round. This time his cards were slightly better. He had two spy-cards which would come in handy.   
But he could see Eskel’s lip twitch minutely and he knew that was his tell that he was happy with his cards. Damn it. 

It was Eskel’s turn to begin and he took his time.   
Geralt’s eyes wandered over to Lambert and Jaskier. The left side of the bard’s face was bathed in the warm light of the fireplace and he was laughing contentedly.   
Geralt could see the fine lines radiating from the corners of his eyes, accentuated as he laughed. In Toussaint they called them laughter lines which was a way more fitting term than crow’s feet. Who the fuck came up with that?

And to Geralt the lines on Jaskier's face looked more like…rays of sunshine.   
And wasn’t that a way more fitting description? In moments like these, laughing without restraint, Jaskier radiated so much joy and happiness that looking at him felt like…looking straight into the sun.

“Melitele’s titts Geralt, it’s your turn already,” Eskel called him back to the game, “why the fuck are you staring at your bard.”  
Geralt frowned. “He is not ‘my bard’”, he mumbled quietly, ashamed that he had been caught.   
“Were you ogling his beautiful eyes and plush lips,” Eskel said in a taunting tone, kicking his leg under the table.   
“No, just his wrinkles,” Geralt grunted.

“What are you talking about?” Jaskier called over. He always seemed to know when someone was talking about him. Damn it.  
Geralt growled quietly and shot Eskel a warning look that only made the other grin even wider. 

“Oh, Geralt was just talking about your wrinkles,” he called over.  
Geralt heard an indignant gasp and Jaskier calling over, “there is no need to be rude, Geralt.”   
Eskel and Lambert laughed and Geralt threw a card on the table in irritation. Maybe it has been a mistake to take Jaskier here to his asshole brothers.


	5. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jaskier gently treats some minor injuries Geralt had received during training

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a slightly modified version of my shortfic 'Gentle Hands' which is part 5 of my Geraskier short fics series.

“Oh Geralt, you are bleeding,” Jaskier said with a sharp intake of breath as the witcher walked into the kitchen a few days later. It was almost noon and the witchers had apparently finished their morning training. Geralt huffed but Jaskier walked over to him, “let me have a look.” The witcher turned away and grumbled, “no, it will heal on its own in an hour or two.”  
Jaskier clucked his tongue, “don’t be silly, let me take care of you before you bleed all over your shirt.”

Lambert entered the kitchen and said with a snicker, “yes, Geralt, let your bard take care of you”  
“Oh hush,” Jaskier chided the youngest witcher.  
Lambert just huffed out a laugh and left the kitchen. Geralt groaned quietly.   
“What?” the bard asked, “did I embarrass the big scary witcher in front of his big scary witcher brother?”

But Geralt had sat down on the bench in front of the fire and this time when Jaskier approached he did not turn away. With cool and steady hands Jaskier carefully turned Geralt’s face a bit from side to side and was relieved to find just one black eye and a shallow cut on the cheek.   
A moment later he returned with a bowl of water and a clean cloth.  
Sitting down on the bench next to Geralt Jaskier put the water bowl between them and gestured for him to turn his face to the bard. He dipped the cloth in the water and wrung it out till it didn’t drip anymore.

“Why do you look so beaten up and Lambert has barely a scratch?” Jaskier asked quietly.  
Geralt mumbled, “they teamed up on me, Lambert and Eskel.”  
Jaskier laid one hand, cool from the water, on Geralt’s cheek to hold his face steady and smiled as the witcher’s honey golden eyes met his.

“In one-on-one combat I’m usually better. They wanted to test if they could beat me together.”  
Jaksier chuckled, “and they did?” It was more a statement than a question.  
Geralt hummed in agreement. He watched as Jaskier stuck out the tip of his tongue, lightly pressed between his lips. Geralt knew Jaskier did this when he concentrated on something, like composing a new ballad or trying to play a particularly difficult song for the first time on his lute.   
As he registered the corners of Jaskier’s mouth rising in a soft smile, something warm crept up his neck and he quickly closed his eyes.   
Jaskier pressed the cold wet cloth to the cut on his cheek. The bleeding had stopped and the cool damp cloth felt good, soothing the stinging. Geralt suppressed a sigh. 

“My poor witcher,” Jaskier said quietly, “does it hurt?” Very carefully he rubbed away all the blood, cleaning the cut.  
“I’ve had worse,” Geralt replied in his deep voice. He heard Jaskier rinsing out the cloth and then felt it on his face again, methodically cleaning away all the sweat and dirt from the training.

“I know that, but it doesn’t mean you are not allowed to talk about lesser pain.”  
A moment later Geralt felt Jaskier’s fingers on his face, thumb gently stroking his skin near the cut. The bard’s face was so close that he could feel his breath on his lips.  
When Jaskier’s fingers left his face, Geralt opened his eyes again.

He watched as Jaskier opened a pot with healing balm that smelled of chamomile. He put a bit on one finger and again put his other hand on Geralt’s uninjured cheek before carefully applying the balm to the cut. Geralt closed his eyes once more.

“Shall I get a bowl of snow or ice to cool your eye?”  
“No,” Geralt replied, “just…”  
“Stay here?” Jaskier asked.  
“Hm.”  
They sat in silence for a moment but as usual it did not last long with the bard around.  
“You know what my mother did when I hurt myself as a child?” he asked the witcher, and without waiting for a response continued, “she would blow on my wound telling me it would help the healing.”

Geralt could hear the smile in his voice even without looking.  
“We could try that,” the bard continued, “or I could try to kiss it better.” Geralt knew for sure that the bard was grinning now.  
Geralt coughed and after a moment replied, “that wouldn’t be very sanitary.”

Geralt couldn’t get the image of Jaskier kissing him out of his head for the rest of the day and was once again wondering if Lambert had been right.


	6. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jaskier chops wood and Geralt cannot stop looking...the pining continues!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a slightly modified version of my shortfic 'Wood' from my mini series 'Jaskier has unexpected talents (and it is probably not what you are thinking)'. So some of you will already know this but it just fits so perfectly :)

“Why is Jaskier chopping wood?” Eskel asked Geralt, who was leaning against a doorway. They watched the bard, who was standing, legs slightly bent and a shoulder width apart, in a courtyard, lifting a heavy axe above his head.  
“No idea,” Geralt replied, “never seen him chop wood before.”

Today was uncharacteristically sunny and it nearly felt warm. The sun reflected on the sharply polished edge of the axe. The bard had taken off his doublet. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up and his chest hair was visible through the loosely laced front. The sun shone on him and Geralt could see droplets of sweat gleaming on his forehead.

“So you and the bard, eh?” Eskel asked, with a smirk and sideway glance at Geralt.   
Geralt grunted and said, “Jaskier and me - we are friends … travel companions.”

Eskel laughed silently. Geralt’s arms were crossed in front of his chest and he almost looked relaxed, contempt, deliberately not looking at the other witcher. “So the ...ahm … excitement we can all smell on you when you look at that handsome bard of yours is just a coincidence?” he asked with raised eyebrows and a wicked smirk.  
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” growled Geralt.

They watched Jaskier swinging the axe down with precision, cleanly splitting a log, the two halves tumbling down the chopping block. The muscles on his exposed arms were clearly visible.

When he was wearing his ridiculous clothes, the colorful doublets and high waisted trousers, holding the fragile lute in his hands, the bard appeared to be smaller, leaner. Geralt assumed that it was intentional, that it was somehow beneficial to his profession as a bard to look less strong, less threatening. But now his strong body and defined muscles were visible through the sweat soaked shirt that clung to his torso.

Geralt tore his eyes away from his friend. “So you would not have a problem when - let’s say - Lambert were to make a move on the bard?” Eskel asked him, with amusement in his voice.  
Geralt could not suppress a growl, “Lambert will keep his fucking hands to himself”.  
“Ah,” was all Eskel answered with a knowing smile, playfully bumping his shoulder into Geralts.

“It’s okay, you know,” he continued quietly, more serious.  
“What,” Geralt growled through gritted teeth, “is okay?”

Jaskier bent down to retrieve one half of the split log, putting it on the chopping block, so it was standing upright. He lifted the axe again, gripping it firmly with his two hands before he swung it down, splitting the log with an audible crack into quarters.  
“Caring about someone,” Eskel answered, “wanting someone.”

Jaskier bent down again to retrieve the second half and Geralt felt heat rising to his cheeks as he willed himself to look somewhere else, breathing deeply to slow his treacherously increased heartbeat.

“I don’t need anyone and I don’t want anyone needing me,” Geralt answered, looking down at his boots.  
“Oh, the old lie we witchers tell ourselves,” Eskel said with a sympathy in his voice that irritated Geralt.  
“It’s no lie, it is our way of life,” was Geralt’s retort.  
“And yet here we are,” Eskel said, looking at the bard.

Jaskier repeated these movements for a while till he had produced a decent pile of quartered logs that lay around the chopping block.  
“Does the bard know,” Eskel began, feeling Geralt tense beside him, “that he does not have to chop the wood? That we have a barn full of chopped wood and that most of our fireplaces can handle bigger logs?” Geralt led out a breath, a mix of relief and amusement.

“Or did you not tell him so you can enjoy this lovely view for a while longer?” Eskel asked, a wicked grin back on his face. Geralt huffed.

Jaskier leaned the axe to the chopping block, bending down to gather up the chopped wood. When he turned around he spotted Geralt and Eskel standing in the doorway and a smile brightened his face, wiping away the crease of concentrating on his forehead. He made his way towards them, arms full of the chopped wood.

“You two are just idly standing by watching me doing all the hard work?” He thrust the armful of wood to Geralt, “make yourself useful and help me bring the wood into the barn.”  
Eskel laughed, “oh, so you DO know about the barn full of chopped wood? So tell me, bard, why do you chop wood when you know we already have a barn full of it?”

Jaskier looked at the dark-haired witcher with a bright smile and Geralt was not sure why that made him so angry. “I just love chopping wood,” Jaskier answered, “the physicality and simplicity of it, the way that you instantly see the result of your work, the smell of the chopped wood, it just is so … satisfying. And your axe is really good, pretty sharp.”

Geralt could see that Jaskier’s sweaty face and arms were dusted in fine wood shavings and the intensity of the smell that was pure Jaskier gave him the strange urge to gently wipe away the dust from his forehead and press a kiss to his temple, tasting him.  
Eskel turned to him with an audible inhale through his nose, a raised eyebrow and a wicked smile.

“Yes Geralt, you really should make yourself useful and help your bard with this satisfying work”, Eskel said, turning around, walking back into the keep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please let me know what you think!


	7. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A cozy evening in the library

It had been a day full of hard work for the witchers. A part of the roof needed fixing before the first real snow storm would roll in. Geralt, Eskel and Lambert had climbed on the roof for hours, carrying up and maneuvering long wooden beams and planks, sawing and hammering till it got too dark. 

Hungry from the hard work, the three witchers had stuffed their dinner in their mouths in record time so that they could go to their respective rooms to wash and put on clean clothes.

There was no chattering audible when Geralt approached the wooden doors of the library, so his brothers were probably still in their rooms. When he entered only Jaskier was there. 

“Bollocks,” the bard said but when he noticed Geralt in the door his expression softened to a smile. “Ah, Geralt, hello.”  
Geralt smiled back softly.   
“What are you swearing about?” he asked, head tilted. The bard was sitting cross legged on one of the huge leather armchairs near the fireplace.   
He had something in his hands.

“Are you knitting?” Geralt asked after a moment. The bard was holding a small piece of what looked like woolen cloth, something like the beginning of a scarf and a 15 cm long metal rod.   
Shaking his head Jaskier said, “no, crocheting, I cannot get the hang of knitting, somehow my hands fall asleep when more than one needle is involved.” He held up the crochet needle and Geralt could see that the tip was delicately curved to form a hook.

As he made a few steps towards him, the bard said, “and I was swearing because the ball of wool just fell down and rolled somewhere over there.” Geralt’s eyes followed Jaskier’s pointed finger towards another armchair a few meters away, a thread of dark red woll disappearing under it.

As Jaskier made to lay the crochet needle on the side table and to stand up, Geralt held up his hand, “stop, I’ll get it for you.” He knelt down next to the other armchair, but the ball of wool had rolled right under it to the other side of the room, nearly fully unravelled.

“What are you crocheting?” he asked Jaskier as he made his way over to pick it up. Slowly walking towards the bard he carefully gathered the wool in his hands.

“I planned to make a blanket, but Eskel told me that Lil' bleater, the baby goat, is very sensitive to the cold, because it is still so small. He planned to get it inside the castle… I thought I could crochet a sweater.”  
Geralt looked at him with furrowed brows, “for Eskel?”  
Laughing Jaskier replied, “no, for Lil’ bleater.” 

“Eskel and his fucking goats,” Geralt huffed, shaking his head. He was now standing in front of Jaskier, not sure what to do with the arm full of wool. Was it okay to drop it on the floor?

“You know the baby goat was born prematurely and needs all the love and care we can give,” the bard said.   
He was now looking up to him and continued, “I have to roll the wool up again, or it gets all tangled…”  
“I could do that,” Geralt offered, “then you can continue crocheting.” He turned around, sat down on the floor before the armchair the bard occupied, leaning against it and placed the wool in his lap.  
“Thank you, dear,” Jaskier said. 

After a moment Geralt heard Jaskier say, “I know all of you scary witchers are actually big old softies. None of you, not even Lambert, would let a baby goat freeze if you can do something about it.” Geralt felt Jaskier patting his shoulder and the witcher just hummed to that. 

Sitting here, in the library in the old keep, one of the only places he could call home, in front of a warm fire, his brothers near and Jaskier behind him, humming softly, he felt a warmth that didn’t come from the fire. Slowly and carefully he started to untangle the wool so he could roll it up again.

“I didn’t know you could crochet,” he said after a while.  
“Oh, it is something I only do in winter,” Jaskier said, “Balls of wool don’t travel well and somehow only in winter the desire to crochet comes over me.” 

A few minutes later the door to the library opened and Vesemir walked in, carrying a small burlap sack. He hummed a greeting and sat down in another armchair. 

“What have you got there?” Jaskier asked the older witcher.  
“Walnuts.”   
In that moment Eskel and Lambert walked in, chatting about the repairs and planning what to do the next day. Both walked over to Vesemir and retrieved a few of the brown nuts each. Eskel brought Geralt a handful. 

Eskel and Lambert started a game of gwent and Vesemir was already sunk in a book.   
Geralt took out his dagger and started to crack the shells.  
“Do you want some,” he asked Jaskier, turning his head so he could look up at him.

“One moment, darling,” Jaskier said and Geralt’s cheeks heated from this term of endearment. He could swear that Eskel and Lambert fell silent for a moment but he didn’t dare to look over. Thankfully they didn’t comment on that.

A moment later he felt Jaskier’s hand softly squeezing his shoulder and he handed him the walnut kernels.   
This procedure was repeated every few minutes. When Jaskier was done with a row he would reach for Geralt’s shoulder and his witcher would already have some kernels ready for him. 

And even though there was still an empty armchair, he stayed on the ground that evening, cradling the ball of red wool in his lap, cracking walnut shells.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to give them a cozy and relaxed evening in the library <3


	8. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lambert tries to play matchmaker :D

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mention of minor injuries and metion of death

The next day Jaskier was in the kitchen, kneading bread dough when Lambert came in. In the last week Vesemir had taught him how to make the delicious bread and now it was Jaskier’s job to bake a fresh loaf every other day. After this winter, Jaskier thought with a grin, he would have all the necessary skills to be a good housewife, and was astonished how much he enjoyed all the domestic tasks. 

Lambert was sweaty and dusty and there was some blood on his arm, but with all the dirt covering him Jaskier was not sure if it was Lambert’s own.  
“Oh, are you hurt?” he asked the witcher, covering the dough with a fresh linen cloth, turning to the sink to wash his hands. 

“Nothing big, just a small cut where Eskel actually managed to hit me with a sword.” He inspected his arm, turning it from side to side, sounding more appreciative than annoyed or pained.   
Jaskier clicked his tongue and turned to Lambert, “let’s go to your room, I’ll patch you up.”  
Lambert smiled, no trace of the snicker from a few days ago when it had been Geralt’s turn to be patched up after training. 

“What, no protest or silly claims that the big scary witcher doesn’t feel pain?”, the bard teased lightly.  
“Oh, we do feel pain and I actually appreciate it when someone offers to take care of me,” Lambert said, “I am not such a stoic bastard as Geralt.” He led the way to his room, Jaskier in tow. 

They sat down at a small table, Lambert laying his arm on the top as Jaskier gathered all the materials he needed to treat the wound. With practised movements he cleaned the cut and washed the rest of the arm with a wet cloth, inspecting the wound and determining that it didn’t need stitches.

“So, for how long do you have a … let's say, crush on Geralt?” Lambert asked with his usual bluntness. Jaskier just sighed, not clear if in annoyance or surrender.   
“Oh, come on, a blind person could see that,” Lambert continued, “and there is nothing wrong with that.”

Jaskier opened the small can with the healing balm that smelled strongly of chamomile, dipped his fingers in and very carefully applied it to the cut, staying uncharacteristically silent.  
“I mean, I don’t understand how anyone could have a thing for my stupid brother,” he said with a smirk.

Jaskier looked up at him and said, “do you want me to bandage it? If you are healing as fast as Geralt, it should be fine in a few hours, sooner if you meditate.”   
“Are you dodging my question, bard?”  
Jaskier sighed again and looked up in his eyes. They were similar to Geralt’s, but where Geralt’s reminded him of the sun in the summer and golden honey, Lambert’s gleamed in the flickering fire light like amber. He never understood how people could be afraid of these eyes, to him they were just beautiful.

“I’m happy to be his friend,” he finally said.  
“You know, I asked him a few days ago if he noticed that you are constantly flirting with him and you know what he said?”  
Jaskier had started to blush but was still looking in Lambert’s eyes, raising an eyebrow.  
“He said that he was sure you weren’t actually flirting with him, that you were just teasing him for fun or some bullshit.”

Again, the bard sighed and let his head slowly fall in his hands.  
“Yeah, I know, he is an oblivious bastard,” Lambert said.  
After a moment Jaskier looked up again and said, “what is the point of you telling me this?”

“I’m telling you this because even I can see that Geralt is head over heels for you but the oblivious bastard hasn’t realised that himself yet. And it is kind of painful to watch how you both are tiptoeing around each other when you clearly want to fuck.”

Jaskier was confused that Lambert was not grinning. Somehow he was not telling him that to mock him and it did not fit the image Geralt had painted of his youngest brother.  
“Why are you so sure he is, as you said it ‘head over heels for me’?”, Jaskier asked.

“Oh, I know this fucker practically my whole life and he has always been a miserable bastard, but since he met you, he has been even more unbearable during the winters, but not in a miserable kind of way, more in a ‘I’m in love with my best buddy’ kind of way, gushing about you without even realising it. He talks about you all the time - Geralt, who never says more than strictly necessary. One time when we were drunk he even giggled about some stupid shit you’ve got yourself into, giggling! I know this man for a few decades now and never heard anything remotely like giggling leave his mouth,” Lambert said with a short laugh, “and he always got more and more restless when spring came near, eager to leave the keep at the first possible moment to finally get back to you…” Lambert shook his head with a fond smile. 

Jaskier was looking at him, unbelieving. He couldn’t bring together the Geralt Lambert was describing and the one he knew. Even though Geralt had become more and more comfortable around him in the last years, sometimes even showing hints of affection, Jaskier had never in a million years understood any of this to be anything but platonic friendship. He had always hoped that there could be something else between them, but was content to be friends if that was what Geralt wanted. 

“So you want to...what?” asked Jaskier, “play matchmaker?”  
Lambert leaned forward, elbows braced on the table and said in a serious voice, “listen, to be honest, I know Geralt and I may not have the best relationship, but he is my brother and - please don’t tell him that - despite everything I want him to be happy.” 

After a pause he continued, “I once had a...good friend, a really good friend...fuck it, actually a lover. Aiden. It was not just sex, you know, but the real shit, feelings and all. And because we were both stupid bastards, it took us some time to figure that out. And because life is shit, after only a year together he died. Got himself murdered.”

Jaskier caught his breath as he saw a bundle of emotions play over Lambert’s face. He stopped his hand from reaching towards the other, not sure if he wanted a reassuring touch. 

The witcher looked down at Jaskier’s hand and continued, “I am not telling you my sad story for your pity or sympathy. I am telling you, that life can be shitty and it can be unexpectedly short and if there is something good you shouldn’t wait for the perfect moment to grab it, because there is none, there is just what we do and what we regret not doing.”   
Jaskier was still looking at him open mouthed. 

“So, my brother is oblivious and dense,” Lambert said, “when it comes to feelings you have to spell things out for him in the most obvious kind of ways. I suggest you do that, because if you keep on waiting for him to make the first move or to magically understand that you are as into him as he is into you, you will wait forever and that would just be unnecessary shit, you understand?”

Jaskier nodded slowly, not sure if he actually understood. Lambert patted his hand and stood up. 

“And no,” Lambert said over his shoulder, “I don’t need a bandage, gonna meditate for an hour.”  
Jaskier stood up, thoughts swirling through his head and walked out of Lambert’s room. 

A few minutes later Jaskier was in his room and fell unceremoniously on his bed, face first. He wasn’t quite sure what to think about what Lambert had just told him. He had always been so sure that Geralt wasn’t interested in anything else but friendship with him. And that had been fine. 

It had not stopped him flirting with the witcher, but always more in a playful than serious way. And only one or two times over their acquaintance had Jaskier thought that Geralt had warmed up to his flirting, maybe even returning it, but that had been when they were dead drunk and afterwards he wasn’t sure if he remembered it right...  
But had they both actually been so dense as Lambert had suggested?

Jaskier had normally no problem telling someone he liked them, but with Geralt it was something else. He was his friend, one of his only real friends, not just a casual acquaintance, but someone that had stuck around through thick and thin. He didn’t want to jeopardize that, especially not when they were stuck together in a remote keep for a few months with only four other people...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, I'm so sorry about Aiden. BUT in my mind Aiden is alive and Lambert just tells Jaskier he is dead because it adds more drama and urgency. Next year Lambert will bring Aiden to Kaer Morhen and Jaskier wil be like ?????


	9. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jaskier maked pancakes for Geralt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a slightly modified version of my shortfic 'Pancakes' from my mini series 'Jaskier has unexpected talents (and it is probably not what you are thinking)'.

“You what?” asked Jaskier, turning around to Geralt with a shocked look on his face, “you NEVER had pancakes in all of your long life?” He was looking at his witcher as if he had told him that he did not know what shoes were.

The bard was standing in the warm kitchen, doublet open, shirt loosely laced, sleeves rolled up and hands on his hips. He had been helping Vesemir organize and catalogue their food supplies and now his hair was ruffled and Geralt could see dust on the shoulders of the sky-blue doublet. 

“Who would have made me pancakes?” Geralt retorted with raised eyebrows.  
“I don’t know, Vesemir?” Jaskier said, “or in an inn maybe?”  
Geralt did not say anything to the ridiculous suggestion of Vesemir making him pancakes even though he had the funny mental image of the older witcher in an apron and chef’s hat, swinging a pan, throwing pancakes in the air. He shook his head, barely concealing a grin.

“They aren’t usually on the menu and when I am in an inn I need to eat more sustaining food,” Geralt said.  
To Geralt’s annoyance Jaskier started to beam as Lambert entered the kitchen carrying a basket full of eggs and he especially hated how Lambert winked at his bard. Geralt shook his head as he realized that he had thought of Jaskier as ‘his bard’. Damn Lambert.

“This is an unacceptable situation,” Jaskier declared towards Geralt before he turned to the other witcher again, “Lambert, you must be sent by Melitele.”  
Geralt wanted to punch Lambert’s grin off his face.

“Give me those eggs,” the bard said, taking the basket from the younger witcher. “And Geralt, go and fetch me some flour and milk.”   
Geralt huffed with irritation but did as the bard asked. When he returned to the kitchen he heard Lambert and Jaskier silently talk and his desire to punch the younger witcher intensified.

“Don’t you have a roof to fix?” he barked at Lambert as he sat down the jug of milk and the pot with the flour on the countertop next to where Jaskier stood. Lambert looked at him with raised eyebrows and a grin.  
“Don’t be rude, Geralt,” Jaskier chided. Lambert laughed, looked at the bard and said, “Jaskier is right,don’t be rude.” Then he turned again to Jaskier and said, “think about what I told you. We can continue our…conversation tonight,” and left the kitchen.

“What was that about?” Geralt growled.  
“What do you mean?” Jaskier asked innocently. He turned away from Geralt, grabbing a large bowl from a cupboard and a cooking spoon from a drawer.  
“What did Lambert tell you?” Geralt specified. He noted that Jaskier’s heartbeat was slightly quicker than usual and his cheeks and neck were flushed.  
“That is none of your business,” Jaskier replied.

He looked up at Geralt and with a radiant smile said, “now you will sit down here by the fire and let me spoil you with my special pancakes.”  
Geralt could not explain why his throat was suddenly dry when he looked in the familiar face of his bard, beaming at him as if he was the only person in this world that mattered at this moment. Jaskier could have a strange effect on people.  
He did as he was asked and was pleased when Jaskier put a mug of ale next to him and quickly squeezed his shoulder.

“Since when can you make pancakes?” he asked Jaskier.  
“A few winters ago, I had a short fling with a wonderful cook, a beautiful fat woman, lovely blond curls. She worked in a tavern I was performing at. She made me pancakes, her speciality, after my performance and I fell instantly in love with the pancakes and her,” he said in a dreamy voice and unfocused gaze.

Geralt watched the bard carefully taking an egg into his hand, holding it securely and hitting the shell on the rim of the bowl, neatly breaking it into two halves, letting the raw egg glide into the bowl. He repeated this with two more eggs.

“It was in the middle of winter and in the night a blizzard hit the village and we were snowed in. So I stayed in her warm bed for a couple of nights and because we couldn’t go outside I sat in the kitchen during the day, singing to her, tasting her lovely food and lovely lips and breasts and… ahm …”, Jaskier coughed and seemed to return to the present, “and she was scandalized by my lack of cooking skills, so she taught me how to make pancakes.”  
Jaskier was still smiling sweetly and Geralt could picture the scenario Jaskier had described clearly in his head.

The bard scooped a few spoons full of flour in the bowl to the eggs and poured a bit of the milk and a bit of water in. Then he looked around the kitchen, grabbed the pot of salt and added a pinch of it to the mix. With the wooden cooking spoon he stirred the ingredients together.

Then he grabbed a mug of ale for himself and sat beside Geralt. “The pancake batter has to sit for a few minutes.” He held out his mug to Geralt who clinked his mug to Jaskier’s.

“Thank you again for taking me with you this winter,” the bard said in a soft voice. Geralt hummed in answer, not looking at Jaskier directly. Sometimes when Jaskier smiled at him it was like looking in the sun, it hurt but you did not want to turn away, so it was better not to look in the first place.

“You know,” the bard said quietly, “you don’t have to be jealous of Lambert, you could just ask me to spend the evening with you.” He softly tipped his foot against Geralt’s.  
Geralt looked up with a frown and said, “I am not jealous.”  
“Of course you aren’t,” was all the bard replied. He stood up again, walked over to the bowl and stirred the batter. “Now,” he said more cheerfully, “the batter is ready.” He grabbed a pan and put it on the stove, where a fire was always burning.

He waited till the pan was heated and put in oil. With a ladle he scooped some of the batter in the pan, which produced a sizzling sound. Jaskier grabbed the pan by the handle and moved it a bit for the batter to distribute over the whole surface. After a short while he grabbed the handle again, moving it first slowly then with more momentum back and forth. 

“Now comes the fun part,” he said smiling, looking up to make sure Geralt was watching him.  
With a swift motion Jaskier swung the pan just a bit up and forward, throwing the pancake in the air where it turned and landed on the uncooked side. He put the pan back on the stove and bowed low towards Geralt as if to an applauding audience. Geralt smirked but said nothing. He was indeed a bit impressed but still thought about what Jaskier had said a moment ago about being jealous of Lambert.

Jaskier backed six pancakes, stacking them on a plate, till the batter was all used up. He placed them on the table and motioned to Geralt to take a seat. “I am just getting some honey and preserved cherries.”

When he returned Geralt sat at the table in front of the pile of deliciously smelling pancakes. Jaskier sat opposite of him.   
“Aren’t you eating some too?”, Geralt asked the bard.  
“No, my pleasure is watching you eat”, he replied with a smile.   
Geralt took one of the still warm pancakes, placing it on his plate and dropped some cherries and honey on it.

The taste of the pancake was rich and wonderful. It was in perfect harmony with the sweet honey and sour cherries. It was so delicious that he had to suppress a groan of pleasure. When he looked up he was caught in the radiating smile from Jaskier.


	10. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Geralt and Jaskier clean the shelves in the basement, all alone...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The pining continues...

Mornings at Kaer Morhen usually started way too early for Jaskier, but he loved them nonetheless. All inhabitants of the keep would sit together at the large wooden table in the kitchen, eating hot porridge, drinking tea and dividing the tasks for the day.

“The shelves in the basement,” Vesemir said in between spoons of porridge, “someone needs to clean there and take stock.” He looked up at Geralt as he said this with raised eyebrows. Geralt suppressed a grunt. He’d rather spend the afternoon outside, repairing the barn than in the dark and dusty basement. 

“Geralt,” Vesemir said, ignoring Geralt’s sour face, “you and Jaskier can do this.”  
Suddenly the prospect of spending a few hours down there didn’t seem so boring anymore and he nodded to the older witcher. As he looked over to Jaskier he noticed just the slightest of blushes on the bard’s pale cheeks.

So after a morning of sword training with his brothers and a quick lunch, Geralt collected the bard from the library and they made their way down narrow winded staircases.

“What do you store down here?” Jaskier asked, his voice echoing from the stone walls.  
“Some ingredients for potions,” Geralt said, “there are a few that need stable conditions and down here the temperature and humidity stay the same over the year.”

“Are they dangerous?” Jaskier wanted to know, looking up to Geralt.   
“If you drink them, yes,” he said, “but they will not explode or anything. We store them here because they can lose their potency otherwise. And some of them are very rare to find or hard to manufacture.”  
Jaskier hummed in answer.

They arrived in a large room with long shelves lining the walls, stacked with dusty bottles, chests, small boxes, cans and other objects of all shapes and sizes. First they would empty the shelves, so they could wipe them down. After that they would clean the containers, check the conditions of the ingredients and take inventory of what was there. 

As they worked Geralt looked over to Jaskier from time to time. He shook his head and tried to concentrate on his work as the bard first opened and then removed his dark green cloak. Geralt also got the feeling that it had gotten oddly warm down here as Jaskier rolled up his sleeves, exposing his pale forearms. 

The next time Geralt looked over specs of dust had collected on Jaskier’s shoulders and when Jaskier leaned into one of the shelves to grab the containers on the back, some cobwebs caught in his hair. 

Geralt chuckled as the bard turned to him.  
“What?” the younger man asked, arms full of dusty boxes.  
Geralt pointed at his hair and said “cobwebs” with a grin.   
Jaskier shook his head, “can you…?” He looked pleadingly at Geralt. 

So he walked over and avoided Jaskier’s blue eyes as he carefully combed his fingers through the soft brown curls to rid them of the cobwebs.  
“There,” he said quietly a moment later, searching Jaskier’s head to make sure he had removed everything.  
“Are you sure?” he asked, looking up at Geralt. 

They were standing so close that Geralt could feel Jaskier’s breath on his face and there was a split second where he wanted to lean the rest of the way forward to press his lips to Jaskiers to find out if they were as soft as they looked. 

A heartbeat later he shook his head at this inappropriate thought, took a step back and said, “give me these,” as he hastily extracted the boxes out of Jaskier’s grasp. The bard blinked a few times but when the witcher turned back, Jaskier was already back at work. 

“We should have brought something to drink,” Jaskier said a while later, wiping away sweat from his forehead, “you don’t think I can drink one of these?” he asked, pointing at a collection of large bottles with clear liquid inside.  
“If you want to die a horrible death…”  
Jaskier laughed nervously and turned back to the shelves. 

A moment later Geralt shook his head and said, “I could...I could go up and get you something to drink from the kitchen…”  
The bard turned to him but instead of the beaming smile Geralt had expected, Jaskier looked nervous. Jaskier grabbed his arm as if to stop him.

“I...ahm…” he began.  
“You don’t want to be left alone down here?” Geralt guessed.  
Jaskier let go of Geralt’s arm and ran his fingers through his hair.  
“It’s so dark down here, Geralt,” he said quietly, “what if the lamp goes out?”  
The witcher looked him over.  
“I didn’t know you were afraid of the dark.”  
“I’m not particularly partial to dark basements…”  
“Mh…,” Geralt responded, “we can go together…”  
“No,” Jaskier interjected, shaking his head, “I’m fine, let’s just finish and be done with this.”

His smile looked forced but Geralt wasn’t one to argue. He knew Jaskier could be very insistent if he wanted something and if he wasn’t then his thirst couldn’t be that bad.   
So they continued their work until they had cleared the lower shelves.

“So…” Geralt said, “how do you like it here?”  
“Here in the basement?” Jaskier looked at him with raised eyebrows.  
“Kear Morhen, I mean,” Geralt clarified.   
Geralt had just realized that they hadn’t been alone together for longer than half an hour since they arrived. On the path they spend days together and even when Geralt was away on a hunt or Jaskier performed in a tavern, they more often than not spend the night alone together. 

And they hadn’t really talked since they arrived, at least not alone. Geralt had the feeling that Jaskier was enjoying his stay, but he wanted to make sure.  
“Oh, I love it,” the bard said, “Vesemir, Eskel and Lambert are just lovely…” Geralt frowned at that, lovely wasn’t the adjective he would use to describe them, especially not Lambert.

“...and I like the routine, all the little chores, more than I thought. I always hated doing my chores as a child…”  
Geralt huffed a laugh, “as a viscount you probably didn’t have to collect eggs or sweep the dusty floors…”

“No, I didn’t,” Jaskier agreed, “I had to do things like decline nouns in four different languages, practice polite conversation starters and fencing…The tasks I do here are actually useful and that is weirdly fulfilling,” he said with a smile.

“Fencing can be useful,” Geralt said.  
“Are you sure? I don’t think I could even decapitate a drowner with the outdated fencing techniques my 100 year old instructor beat into me. It was always, ‘stand straight’, ‘use your left foot, not your right’, ‘this is a rapier not a broom.’” Jaskier accompanied every one of the sentences he spoke in a nasal voice with a sharp wave of his hand, as if he was slapping someone.

Geralt frowned. He had assumed that Jaskier didn’t have the best childhood. He never spoke of it, not of his family or why he left, but Geralt was displeased nonetheless from the suggested corporal punishment. 

A moment later Jaskier beamed at him.  
“And how do you think I’m doing?” he asked Geralt, head tilted, “what have the others said about me?”

“Hm…” Geralt said, “I guess they like you well enough.” Jaskier shook his head at that, of course Geralt wouldn’t give him a longer answer.

They had cleared all the lower shelves so he got a ladder from the next room and Jaskier offered to climb up so he could hand Geralt the things from the upper shelves. They worked in silence for a bit. 

Jaskier was humming a pleasant melodie when he turned to hand Geralt a heavy looking box, when the ladder started to topple. Jaskier lost his footing, dropped the box and as it shattered on the stone floor, Geralt caught his bard safely in his arms, pressing him securely to his chest. 

“Whoa, careful,” he said in his deep voice, looking intently at Jaskier’s face to make sure he was okay.   
The bard blinked up at him and whispered, “I’m sorry...I’m sorry I dropped the box to the floor…”  
Geralt blinked and frowned as if he was just remembering the shattered box at his feet.  
“Better the box than you,” he said. 

They stared into each other's eyes as Geralt heard a cough from behind them and nearly dropped the bard.

“I brought you something to drink,” Vesemir grunted. Geralt wasn’t sure how long the other witcher had stood there and was ashamed not to have noticed him sooner. As Vesemir set a jug and two wooden cups on a table, Geralt carefully lowered Jaskier’s legs to the ground so he could stand on his own. 

Jaskier was blushing as he walked over to the table.  
“Thank you, Vesemir,” he said, “I am…”  
“You’ll probably need a bit longer cleaning up that mess,” Vesemir talked over him, “I’ll leave you to it.” He said with raised eyebrows towards Geralt before he clapped Jaskier on the back, turned around and left them alone once more.


	11. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jaskier joins the sword training

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Mention of minor injuries and blood
> 
> The second part of this chapter is a modified bit I already posted on tumblr (and cannot find anymore :D)

When Eskel had asked Jaskier if he wanted to join their morning training one day he gladly accepted. A bard was a naturally curious creature. 

He could throw a mean punch in a bar fight but Jaskier mostly relied on Geralt to fight their fights. He learned fencing when he was young, but forgot most about it so he would benefit from training with experienced fighters. And of course it was a treat to watch the witchers fight. 

He threw himself into the training and one thing led to another and despite all cautiousness, Geralt’s sword accidentally nicked Jaskier’s cheek. Before he could even register any pain, Jaskier saw Geralt's eyes widen in shock, followed by horror and guilt playing over his friend’s usually stoic face. The bard lifted his hand slowly to feel his cheek and his hand came away with blood - not much. 

Geralt let the sword unceremoniously fall from his hand - the treacherous weapon that had cut his friend and rushed to Jaskier, who had started to feel a bit light headed.   
“Jaskier, I’m sorry, does it hurt, I didn’t...” Geralt said, words tumbling out of his mouth as he reached the bleeding bard. He laid a hand on Jaskier’s cheek, careful not to touch the wound, inspecting it closely. He felt Jaskier tremble a bit and in the next moment Geralt had put one arm behind his back, the other under his legs, lifting him up.

“I will bring you inside, patch you up….oh fuck, are you okay, does it hurt, I am so sorry…” he was still babbleing.  
Lambert and Eskel just silently stared at each other, eyebrows raised and suppressing grins. They could see even from a few meters away that the cut was nothing to worry about, even for a slow healing human.  
Jaskier wiggled his legs and shoved at Geralt’s chest, “set me down you brute, I can walk for myself.” 

Geralt did as he was asked, face red with shame and worry. But the bard smiled at him and patted his arm, “oh come on, I am not mad at you, it was my own stupidity! And now you have the wonderful chance to repay me for all the times I patched you up after a fight.”  
Jaskier turned and walked towards the keep with Geralt following close behind, making sure the bard wouldn’t suddenly faint and fall to the floor.

They reached the kitchen and sat down at the big wooden table, facing each other. Geralt had fetched a bowl with cold water, a fresh cloth, healing balm and bandages. Carefully he started to clean the cut, wiping ever so gently over the now slightly swollen cheek with the wet cloth.  
“Do you think it will leave a scar?” Jaskier asked the witcher.  
“Afraid of looking like me?” Geralt contered.  
His stomach was in a tight knot for fear of exactly that happening. Jaskier’s immaculate appearance was part of his job and he wasn’t sure what effect an ugly scar on his beautiful face would have.

But the bard just smiled at that - followed by a whimper as pain was triggered by the facial movement.   
Geralt flinched, “I am so sorry, Jaskier…” he began only to be interrupted by the other, who put his hand on his, “oh stop it, a scar wouldn’t be that bad! I am sure I would look daring…”

Geralt looked at Jaskier for a moment, carefully inspecting his face and finally said, “don’t worry, in a few days you will be as handsome as before.”  
This time the wide smile that broke out on Jaskier’s face stayed on through the pain. Geralt felt himself blush and looked away, grabbing for the pot of healing balm.  
“You think I look handsome.” That was not a question.  
Geralt replied with a noncommittal grunt and put some of the balm on his index finger.

“Oh no, you don’t get out of this one,” Jaskier said, leaning back a bit so Geralt couldn’t reach his cheek and distract him. The bard continued, “Geralt of Rivia, famous witcher, thinks I look heartbreakingly handsome.” Jaskier looked away in the distance, a wide grin still lighting up his face.

“That’s not what I said,” the witcher replied, hand hovering awkwardly in the air between them.   
“What?” Jaskier asked, “so you don’t think I am handsome? Was it just a lie to lighten my mood? Just to ruin it in the next moment? I don’t understand you, Geralt…”  
Geralt wasn’t quite sure if Jaskier was joking or not and he made another attempt of applying the balm to the cut which Jaskier let him do this time.

But the bard looked at him now with raised eyebrows, clearly waiting for an answer.  
The witcher sighed and mumbled, “you look…objectively handsome…I mean, other people find you attractive.”  
Jaskier was silent for a while. “Mh…so other people find me handsome…” he said slowly, “but you don’t?”

“I...ahm,” Geralt began but wasn’t sure how to answer. How did he get himself into this situation? He knew Jaskier was handsome, that was just a fact, but that clearly not what Jaskier had wanted to hear from him. 

“Just for the record, Geralt”, the bard said, interrupting Geralt’s thoughts, “I am not ashamed to tell you that I think you are very attractive. Objectively and subjectively.”   
Geralt looked at the bard again, which he knew was a mistake, because the intense gaze of the blue eyes made him feel like an open book.   
e  
Hastily he stood up, chair nearly toppling over.   
“Maybe you should rest for a while,” Geralt said, back to the bard. He heard Jaskier sigh and leave the kitchen.


	12. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Geralt checks up on Jaskier

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yesterday I reached 300 kudos on this fic! <3  
> Thank you all so much for reading, kudos and comments, they are the fuel to keep me writing! <3
> 
> CW: mention of minor injuries

Geralt felt like he made a huge mess of everything, not just that he injured Jaskier, but whatever that whole thing in the kitchen had been. He rubbed his hands over his face. It was still a while till lunch. The faint sound of clanking swords told him that Eskel and Lambert were still training and he wasn’t sure where Vesemir was, but he didn’t feel like talking to anyone. 

So he went to his room, washed away all the sweat and dirt from the morning and sat down in front of his fireplace to meditate. Kneeling down in his usual pose, sitting back on his feet, hands loosely in his lap and head slightly hanging forward he normally had no problem to empty his mind and glide into a meditative state. But today was different. 

The scene of him cutting Jaskier’s cheek, how he had looked at him, not in pain, rather startled, lips forming the perfect O, when the blood had started to run down his rosy cheek. The way Jaskier had smiled at him after that and told him it wasn’t his fault (of course if was), the way Jaskier had told him he was attractive and his inability to repay this compliment. 

His cheeks heated again. Damn it, witcher’s weren’t supposed to blush.  
He stood up and paced his room. Maybe he should have just told Jaskier that...that what? He thought about him at night? That he was glad the bard had accompanied him this winter to his home but that he missed sleeping in one bed with him like in the warmer months? 

A moment later he shook his head. He wasn’t good with words and would just mess it up again. But he could at least be a good friend and check up on him. So Geralt made his way over to Jaskier’s room and knocked on the door quietly. For a moment he waited and when there was no reply he turned around. Maybe Jaskier had fallen asleep after this morning's excitement. 

But he stopped immediately when he heard a faint “hallo?” from Jaskier’s room.  
“It’s me...Geralt,” he said through the closed door, “I wanted to...how are you? Can I come in.” Oh fuck, he was babbling again.  
“Yes, come in, I cannot really hear you,” Jaskier called, a bit louder this time.

Geralt opened the wooden door and saw the bard in his bed. Jaskier clearly had been asleep a moment before, his hair was tousled, he rubbed his puffy eyes and he was a bit pale, which made the cut on his cheek stand out. A tiny pang of guilt shot through Geralt’s heart.

“Come here, my witcher and sit next to me,” he said, patting the edge of the bed, “and for Melitele’s sake, please stop looking at me as if I am on the brink of death,” Jaskier continued with a soft smile, “I was just taking a nap. The training this morning showed me that I am quite a bit out of shape.”

Geralt came over and sat down, looking at the bard intensely, taking stock of every inch of his face to assure himself that Jaskier was not lying.  
“I’m sorry,” Geralt began and was interrupted by Jaskier once more, “oh no, you stop apologizing and this self-flagellation!”  
Geralt tried to smile for him but the outcome must not have been satisfactory. 

“What is it?” Jaskier asked quietly.  
“I just...I don’t want…” Geralt stammered.  
“Why are you so distrubed by a little cut on my face?” Jaskier asked, “don’t find me attractive anymore after all?”

“No,” Geralt said without thinking, “that’s not…” and after he took a deep breath he continued, “I know your appearance is important for your job as a bard and I hope that this,” he pointed to Jaskier’s cheek, “will not have any negative impact on that…”  
“Oh,” the bard said, “that is what you’re worrying about?”  
Geralt looked down at his hands in his lap.

“Geralt, look at me,” Jaskier said and after a moment the witcher did.  
“First of all, I don’t think this will leave a significant scar and,” he reached over to squeeze Geralt’s hand, “even if, Geralt, I sing about my adventures with the White Wolf, a famous witcher. People will finally believe me that I help you in fights, that it is a battle wound fit for a witcher’s companion.”

Geralt looked at him and even after so many years he was amazed by this wonderful human, who always found something positive in even the darkest moments. 

“Let me have another look,” Geralt said, carefully reaching over. He put his hand on Jaskier’s cheek underneath the cut, and carefully felt the slight swelling with his thumb. Jaskier exhaled, closed his eyes and just barely leaned into the touch. After a moment the witcher withdrew his hand, accidentally brushing Jaskier’s earlobe with his index finger. 

Geralt froze for a second because of the unexpected feeling of the bard’s velvety soft earlobe. As he felt a blush creeping up his neck he coughed, stood up and said, “are you hungry? I can bring you something to eat.”  
“I'm not invalid, Geralt, I will come to the kitchen in a minute,” the bard answered. So the witcher turned around and left his room.


	13. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the winter sets in fully and it gets too cold for Jaskier to sleep in his room

When they had arrived in Kaer Morhen Geralt had made sure that Jaskier got the best room with the best view of the Morhen valley with a sturdy bed and a beautiful antique desk. It was a round room in one of the towers. Jaskier thought that it was fit for a princess, even though his hair was too short to let it down the window for a prince to climb up. 

The view from the window was breathtaking and Jaskier could spend hours just watching the play of the clouds in the sky and how the sun repainted the mountains over and over again. 

So Jaskier loved his room, but over the last few days the snow had started to set in seriously and the temperatures had dropped significantly. It was clear that this room had not been made with humans and their low tolerance for the cold in mind. 

There was a fireplace, but it was small and on the other side of the room from his bed and the warmth would not quite reach it. The glass in the window was thin and there was a constant draft of cold air.

Jaskier had scavenged all furs and blankets he could find in the keep and dumped them onto his bed. Snuggled under this mountain it had been endurable for another two nights but on the third the temperatures had dropped a few degrees more and he had been shivering in his bed, hoping for sleep that just wouldn’t come. 

So he had put on his warmest cloak and went to the kitchen. It was in the middle of the keep without a window, where even at night a fire was burning. He had made a cup of tea and sat down on the bench in front of the fireplace, warm cup in hand and tightly wrapped in his thick cloak. Jaskier sighed contentedly as he felt warmth slowly returning to his limbs and his mind starting to drift off. 

Then he heard footsteps.   
“Jaskier?” Geralt asked in a low voice, “what are you doing here?”  
The bard shook his head to fully wake up. “Geralt, I’m just…” he began, looking down at the cup of steaming tea, “I wanted to drink something.” Geralt stared at him, obviously not satisfied with the answer.   
Jaskier sighed and stood up, “okay, I couldn’t sleep…”  
“Why?” Geralt asked.  
“It was… it is a bit cold in my room.”

Geralt looked closely at him and hummed. After a moment he said, “why didn’t you tell me?”  
Jaskier looked down to his feet.  
“Oh, it’s the first night that the cold bothered me,” he lied, heat creeping up his cheeks.  
“You could have come to me,” Geralt said, taking a step towards his bard.  
“I didn’t…” Jaskier said, having an uncharacteristically hard time finding the right words, “I didn’t want to disturb you.”  
Geralt huffed, “when did that ever stop you?”

Jaskier looked up. The bard’s expression was more serious than Geralt had expected and he said, “I didn’t want you to think that I don't like my room. I know you have selected it for me, dragging the beautiful desk two stories up so I would have a place to work. I love the room and the desk, I love the view, the bed is really big and comfortable…”  
“But you cannot sleep there because it’s too cold,” Geralt completed, to which Jaskier just nodded, looking to the floor again.

The witcher thought for a moment and then said, “you are coming with me, to my room. It should be warmer there. You can sleep in my bed.”  
Jaskier looked up and said in surprise, “and where will you sleep?”  
Geralt looked back at him, brows furrowed and said slowly, “my bed is big enough for both of us.” 

He paused for a moment to give Jaskier the opportunity to protest, but he just looked at him with big eyes. When he stayed silent, Geralt continued, “you know I have a higher body temperature than humans, it will be an additional source of warmth for you.”   
Geralt scratched the back of his head. They had shared beds before, so why did this feel so awkward?  
And why did Jaskier’s cheeks redden suddenly?  
After a moment thinking about it, Geralt put it off to the tea in the bard’s hands. He was probably just getting warmer.

Jaskier felt like he was dreaming. Was this really happening or had he fallen asleep in front of the fire in the kitchen? He still felt tired and a bit dizzy from the warmth that had returned to his body and somehow he couldn’t get his mouth to open and accept Geralt’s offer. 

“It's just like on the path, when we have to share a room at an inn when we don’t have enough coin for two rooms,” Geralt realized that he had started to babble, even more nervous from the lack of response from Jaskier.  
“Okay,” Jaskier finally managed to say, “that would be lovely.” He was now looking at Geralt, smiling softly. Somehow that made Geralt’s heart miss a beat. 

Quietly they made their way through the stone hallways to Geralt’s room. It was one floor below Jaskier’s and was sparsely furnished with just a wardrobe, a huge four poster bed and a large wooden chest at the end of it. Thankfully the room was indeed warmer.  
Gesturing to the bed Geralt said, “you can...lay down, I’ll be there in a minute.”

Jaskier climbed in the bed and pulled the blankets and furs over him. He watched Geralt as he undressed, first his boots, then his trousers and his shirt. When he was only in his underclothes Geralt walked over and slipped under the cover.

He lay on his back, leaving some space between them and looked over to the bard, finding himself caught in the blue gaze. 

They looked at each other and after a moment Geralt murmured, “is this better?”  
Jaskier blinked and nodded before he said, “better, but I’m still a bit cold.”  
Geralt’s heartbeat had picked up and he breathed in slowly before he extended an arm and said, “you could…”

He didn’t need to finish the sentence. Jaskier was already moving towards him. Deliberately slow he placed his head on Geralt’s shoulder and when the witcher did not protest, he wrapped his arm around Geralt’s waist and put his leg over Geralt’s, pressing his cold feet against his legs. 

“Okay?” Jaskier whispered and Geralt nodded. He held his breath as he loosely wrapped his arm around Jaskier’s waist and was rewarded with a content sigh. He felt Jaskier let go of the tension in his body and practically melt against him. It was a good feeling.  
\-------------

“Your hair,” Jaskier could rather feel than hear the muffled sound of Geralt’s deep voice, whose face was currently buried in said hair. He was sure that the witcher was not totally awake. 

From the light in the room he assumed that it was early morning. Soon after Geralt had wrapped his arm around him in the night he had fallen asleep. Waking up wrapped in Geralt’s arms and their legs tangled was something Jaskier could get used to. 

“What about my hair?” he asked, barely a whisper, afraid to wake Geralt fully, but too curious to let it go.  
“So soft,” Geralt murmerd. Jaskier held his breath and a smile lit up his face. He slowly exhaled and inhaled deeply, savoring the smell of Geralt and the beautiful feeling of waking up in his embrace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked this chapter! It was one of the first scenes that I had in mind for this fic and I'm quite fond of it. Please leave a comment and let me know what you think!
> 
> I added another chapter to the chapter count. The next one was supposed to be the last, but it got too long for my taste, so I devided it. So there are two more chapters to come!


	14. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Geralt goes on a hunt for fresh meat for a few days and when he doesn't return on time Jaskier begins to worry

“You can sleep in Eskel’s bed,” Geralt said. He had just told Jaskier that it was his turn to go on a hunt for some fresh meat. Every few weeks in winter one of the witchers would venture out of the keep in search of bigger game or when they were less fortunate a couple of snow hares and pheasants. It usually took two to three days.   
“Why not Lambert’s?” Jaskier asked, not looking at Geralt.

With a deep breath the witcher said, “I’m sure Vesemir would also let you sleep in his bed.” Ignoring Jaskier’s suggestion of Lambert be continued, “but I already asked Eskel.”  
“Oh, so you decided who I will share a bed with?”

Geralt sighed audibly, “Jaskier, you can sleep wherever you like, I just wanted to make sure you don’t freeze to death for the next few nights.”  
Jaskier was quiet for a moment before he asked in a soft voice, “but you will be back in three days at the latest?” Geralt turned to look at him closely, “of course. Don’t worry, I’ve done this a hundred times before.”

\---

Jaskier had slept a night in Eskel’s bed, but the witcher had been snoring loudly. The next night Jaskier slept in Lambert’s bed and it was a bit better. Eskel had made an effort to lay close but not to touch him, but Lambert had no such inhibitions. He had opened his arms invitingly and held the bard close through the nights and Jaskier had been able to find a few hours of sleep. 

\----------

When Geralt hadn’t returned on the evening of the third night, Jaskier began to worry. Vesemir, Lambert, Eskel and him were eating dinner, but Jaskier only poked the vegetables with his fork, moving them around on the plate. 

After a while Lambert had enough, put his fork down, looked over to Jaskier and said, “spit it out, bard.”  
With a startled look Jaskier said, “my food?”  
“No, smartass,” Lambert said, “why do you act like a depressed puppy?”

A heavy sigh escaped Jaskier’s chest and he asked quietly, “do you think something happened to Geralt?”  
“No, he’ll probably be back tomorrow,” Lambert grunted. He shoved some vegetables in his mouth.

“Should we go looking for him?” Jaskier asked, clearly not reassured.   
Eskel shook his head, “we go look for him when he hasn’t returned after a week.”

“A week?” Jaskier gasped, “what if he is injured, buried under a mountain of snow, eaten by a banshee?”  
“If he’s already been eaten by a banshee,” Lambert says with a full mouth, “it doesn’t matter if we look for him now or in a few days.”

Jaskier gasped and Lambert reached over and squeezed his hand in an uncharacteristically comforting gesture. “Jaskier, he is alright. Geralt is a big boy and can take care of himself.”  
The bard looked up and tried to smile. When the others were not worried, he would try his best not to show his worry to them.

\---------

The next day went by without Geralt’s return. On the fifth day Jaskier was so anxious he went out of the keep to the stables. He brushed and talked to Roach to calm his nerves.   
“You miss him too, don’t you?” he cooed to the horse, getting a huff in return. He must have been here for nearly two hours when he heard footsteps and spun around.

“Jaskier,” Geralt said in a rough voice, shoulders white with snow, warm puffs of air escaping his mouth.   
They looked at each other for a heartbeat before Jaskier rushed over and threw his arms around Geralt, hugging him fiercely. With an audible sigh Geralt also wrapped his arms around him, burying his face in Jaskier’s hair. They stood like this for a moment. 

“You’re finally back,” Jaskier breathed in the crook of Geralt’s neck.  
Geralt hummed in answer, still not willing to let go.  
“What happened?” Jaskier quietly asked. Geralt could feel the movement of Jaskier’s mouth where the bard still pressed his face against his neck.

“There was an avalanche that blocked my usual way back. I had to make a two day detour.”  
Jaskier could feel an uncomfortable tension that had been building up inside his chest slowly uncoiling. He could finally breathe easy once more.

They stood like this, just clinging to the other. Hugging longer than they normally had done.

A moment later they let go a bit, but not much, just so they could look each other in the eyes, arms still holding onto the other.   
Geralt wasn’t sure why this reunion felt so much more intense than their usual greetings after a while apart. He placed a hand carefully on the side of Jaskier’s face, “were you worried about me?”   
Jaskier’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment, leaning into the touch.

“Of course I was worried,” he replied, “I made Lambert promise to go look for you if you hadn’t returned tomorrow…”  
Geralt smiled and said, “you missed me.”  
A faint pink crept up Jaskier’s cheeks and he looked down, away from the intense golden gaze of his witcher. 

“You’ve been only away for five days,” he said.  
Geralt chuckled quietly and said, “but you still missed me.” It was not a question.  
Jaskier looked back up again and said breathlessly, “yes, I’ve missed you.”

The air seemed to be charged around them. Geralt swallowed once and finally let go of Jaskier. He took a step back to look at him fully.  
“Did you sleep well in Eskel’s bed?”  
Jaskier shook his head and started to play with the seam of his coat.   
“Sadly not, he snores really loudly… I had to sleep with Lambert for the last few nights.”

“Sleep with Lambert?” Geralt asked louder than intended.  
Jaskier huffed a laugh. “In his bed.” And after a moment he added with a wink, “no need to be jealous.”  
“What?...I’m not...” Geralt stammered. He cleared his throat and asked, “did you sleep well there?”  
“Better, but…” he looked up at his witcher, “not as good as next to you.”

Geralt’s breath caught in his throat for a moment. He coughed and asked, “will you sleep in my bed tonight?”  
Jaskier looked at him with big eyes and asked, “do you...want that?”  
“I...why...do you still want that?” Geralt sounded unsure.  
With a step towards Geralt Jaskier said with a firm voice, “yes, of course I do, I just thought...maybe you wanted a night for yourself, after five nights in the cold…”

Geralt shook his head, “no, I want...you can sleep with me...I mean...in my bed tonight. I would be...it would be okay for me.”  
They stared at each other for a moment. Then Jaskier nodded and said with a smirk, “under one condition, take a bath, you stink like a wet dog.”


	15. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which everything comes together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of my friends reassured me that it would be okay, if this last chapter would just contain three words:
> 
> AND THEY SMOOCHED  
> :D
> 
> But I have let you all suffer long enough, so you get a few more words.

At dinner this evening Jaskier was glad that he could sit next to Geralt once more. His witcher told them the story of his hunt, how he had tracked the stag for two days, lied in waiting for the right moment and killed it in one quick blow. And how he had heard the avalanche come down and his inevitable decision to take the longer route back to the keep. 

Eskel, Lambert and Vesemir bombarded him with questions and Jaskier was for once content not to be the one talking, but to listen to them, sitting in the warm kitchen, eating a delicious meal and feeling Geralt’s knee press against his on the narrow bench they shared.  
Geralt had been gesturing wildly as he described the hunt and the track he had to take back, carrying the heavy prey over his shoulders. 

But after a while, as the questions turned into a conversation about the best hunting grounds and techniques, Geralt put his hands on his legs and a heartbeat later Jaskier felt just the slightest touch of Geralt’s pinky finger against his leg. At first he thought it was just an accidental brush, but it stayed there, just barely touching the bard’s leg. 

All of his focus went to this point of contact, suddenly more important than Geralt’s thigh against his. Slowly and - as he hoped - casually he put his hand on his own leg, just centimeters from Geralt’s and when his witcher didn’t move, he slowly moved his hand closer, millimeter by millimeter. He held his breath when his pinky finger brushed against Geralt’s. His witcher did not move his hand, but didn’t acknowledge it either. He was still speaking with the other wolves.

They sat like this for another minute or two, Jaskier silent, giving his best expression of listening attentively even though all his attention was still on the tiny point of contact with Geralt. 

And then he felt it, a minute movement of Geralt’s finger. First Jaskier thought that his witcher would finally pull his hand away, but he moved his finger only the slightest bit up and down, as if to...caress Jaskier? And when the bard’s heart began to race, Geralt curled his pinky finger loosely over Jaskier’s.

Lambert looked over sharply to the bard, concern in his eyes. Maybe he had picked up on his rapid heartbeat, but a small smile played over his lips after a moment and he looked away. 

With a warm feeling spreading through his chest Jaskier curled his finger carefully around Geralt’s and held on. 

For another half hour they all sat at the table, talking about hunting in the snow, how to keep warm while sleeping outside in this weather, that the pheasants this year were too meager to hunt and what they planned to do with Geralt’s kill. And during all this time the bard’s and his witcher’s pinky fingers stayed linked, safely tucked under the table out of sight of the others. Jaskier was not sure if the other witchers noticed it anyway, but no one made a remark.

Geralt let go and stood up when they had all finished their meal and said, “I have to go and unpack my bag.” He looked at Jaskier as he said that and as if the bard had picked up on what he actually meant, said, “I’ll help you.” Lambert smirked at the balant lie. Geralt wouldn’t need more than a minute to empty his bag.

Jaskier and Geralt rushed to his room and when the door shut behind them they stood in silence, staring at each other. 

Jaskier’s heart raced in his chest and he could see Geralt’s eyes searching his face, before landing on his eyes. A heartbeat later the bard stepped to his witcher and threw his arms around him once more. Geralt wrapped him in a tight embrace, hugging him impossible close.

Jaskier was breathing hard and said “Geralt” in a hoarse voice as he felt the witcher’s hand weave through his hair. He leaned his head back into the touch, so he could look in his face. Geralt’s cheeks were flushed and his pupils wide. Jaskier reached up and cupped his face, softly stroking his cheekbone and the witcher’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment.  
Jaskier leaned his forehead against Geralt’s, they were so close that they shared breaths. 

“Jaskier, I…” Geralt whispered, his gaze falling from the blue eyes to Jaskier’s lips, “I…”  
Jaskier searched his face and after a moment said breathlessly, “Geralt, please, kiss me.”

The breath escaping Geralt’s lungs was a mix of a groan and a sigh. He looked into Jaskier’s eyes once more, reassuring himself. With the next heartbeat he leaned forward, angled his head and gently brushed his lips against Jaskier’s. 

It was nearly too much. All his senses were flooded by Jaskier and it was intoxicating in the best of ways. 

Their kiss got more intense, more urgent. Jaskier’s lips were hot against his. As he felt Jaskier hands weave through his white hair, Geralt pushed him back against the door. His hands had wandered down to the bard’s hips, pulling him close. 

His heart was racing when he felt Jaskier’s tongue gently pressing between his lips. He sighed as he opened them, meeting his tongue with his own. His hands wandered to Jaskier’s ass and before the bard’s knees could give out he held on to Geralt’s shoulders and wrapped his legs around his waist.

A moment later Geralt pulled away to look at Jaskier. He was sure that he had never been more beautiful. His cheeks were red, his plush red lips slightly apart, his soft brown hair dishevelled and his blue eyes dark with desire. 

Geralt pried one hand away from his perfect butt to tuck a strand of hair behind Jaskier’s ear and the bard smiled softly at him.  
“Geralt,” he said quietly between heavy breaths, “is this okay? What are you thinking?”

Geralt smiled at him before he leaned forward and kissed along his cheek to his ear and whispered, “I can’t believe that the most beautiful person in this world is kissing me.”  
A moan escaped Jaskier’s mouth and he pressed his hips forward.  
“You make me blush,” he replied.  
Geralt leaned back a bit to look at him and said, “it suits you.”

Jaskier smiled broadly.  
“Years of grunts and hums and now you kiss and compliment me?” he said fondly, his legs still wrapped tightly around Geralt’s hips.  
“Are you complaining?” the witcher asked.  
But before the dawning frown on his face could settle in properly, Jaskier gave him a quick peck on the lips and said, “no, love, I just ask myself for how long we could have done this,” he kissed him again, “if we weren’t such idiots. Since we arrived here in Kaer Morhen?”

Geralt laughed, buried his face in Jaskier’s hair and mumbled barely audible, “probably longer.”  
“Mh...for how long did you want to kiss me, my dear witcher?” Jaskier sighed, nuzzling his nose in the crook of Geralt’s neck.

“Couple of years, maybe...” Geralt mumbled.  
With a gasp the bard replied, “years?”  
He started to wiggle till Geralt let him begrudgingly down. Jaskier took his hand and pulled him to the bed, “we have to make up for this right now."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH for reading, kudos, subscribing and commenting! This was a wild ride and I am glad for everyone went along with me!  
> The pining is over.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Please let me know what you think!


End file.
